


Bruises on My Skin

by pherryt



Series: Clint Barton Bingo [13]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Bucky and Clint are not abusing each other, Canon Divergent, Child Abuse, Happy Ending, M/M, Some minor violence, Soulmates, Suicidal Thoughts, deaf!Clint, hurt!Clint, hurt!bucky, kidnapped!clint, mindwiped!Bucky, soulmates through pain, tiny bit of gore mentioned, winter soldier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 13:22:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20471717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pherryt/pseuds/pherryt
Summary: When you get unexplained bruises appearing on your skin, you're one of the rare few to have found your soulmate. What happens to them, is echoed on you to a lesser degree - but usually it doesn't happen till you're much older.Clint's first bruise appeared when he was five. He didn't feel so lucky.





	Bruises on My Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Free Square on my Clint Barton Bingo - the idea for the type of soulmate trope goes to LO from one of my Marvel Discord Servers
> 
> I tried a new format with this, with quick little 'vignettes' (i believe they're called) to cover large expanses of time - once we caught up, i continued to break up the events with the alternating POV's - each easily marked with line breaks.
> 
> thank you Hermit on the WeekendWritingMarathon discord server for giving it a look over. what do you think of the end now?

He was five when the first bruises appeared on Clint’s arms, he couldn’t understand why everyone was so excited about it, why they were  _ happy  _ about him getting hurt.

Did that mean everyone in the  _ whole world _ hated Clint the way his daddy seemed too?

Eventually, he learned they were all excited about his soulmate, how lucky he must be to know so young that he  _ had  _ one, because not everybody did. He hadn’t a clue what that had to do with getting hurt, so he assumed soulmates were something  _ bad.  _ Bad like  _ he _ was bad, otherwise daddy wouldn’t be so mad at him all the time.

His mother found him crying silently under his bed, and she wedged herself under it and drew him into her arms. She was soft and quiet and  _ loved  _ him, in a way that daddy didn’t, and he melted into her warmth the way he always did. 

“Nobody knows why,” she said softly, running her hand gently over his left arm, covered in a mass of purple. “But when your soulmate, the person you’ll love for the rest of your life - the other half of  _ you -  _ gets hurt, you feel it. I’ve never known anyone as young as you to connect with another soul before. You and your soulmate must be  _ very  _ special,” she said. “Whatever makes this bond work usually waits till puberty, at least.”

“But it hurts,” Clint whined and sniffled, burrowing into her arms. He didn’t know what puberty was and he didn’t care. All he knew was that his head ached, his entire left arm hurt, his wrist hurt and his chest felt funny. “It hurts  _ a lot _ , mommy.”

“I know, baby, but one day you’ll be glad of it,” she said. “Because it brings to you the  _ most  _ special person in your life. It’s a rare gift, baby. Be happy.” Her voice was sad, and Clint sniffled, his fingers cautiously touching the bruise on her cheek.

“Is Daddy your soulmate?” he asked, his stomach twisted for all sorts of reasons he couldn’t put a name to.

She was quiet a long time and when Clint’s fingers grew wet from her tears, he didn’t say anything.

All Clint got out of it was that he was the broken half of a whole, that love meant pain, and it caused bruises that made people happy. It also meant that daddy now had another excuse for why Clint was always covered in bruises when he got carried away with beating Clint for being so lazy, one that made the neighbors and the teachers and the doctor smile approvingly and look away, thinking they knew better than they did.

Was it lazy to be so tired all the time? It must be, ‘cause daddy said so, but Clint couldn’t help it. He was always tired and yawning, always cold and shivering, his brain existing in a fog so thick sometimes it took the people around him a few tries to get his attention.

Doctors had checked him out for all sorts of things, but they’d all shrugged and said Clint was normal.

Daddy said Clint  _ wasn’t  _ normal, that there must be something wrong in his head and they’d wasted too much money on something that didn’t exist. That’s when the occasional smacking turned into more than occasional beatings.

Clint decided he hated soulmates and he never wanted to meet his. This was all their fault.

* * *

The asset didn’t know why his handlers were in such a panic over a few measly bruises. They didn’t even really hurt, and he was used to not remembering where his injuries had come from.

_ “- unprecedented – “ _

_ “ – over 40 years. This isn’t possible – “ _

Although, they were taking longer than normal to fade, he supposed. Maybe that was it. Perhaps he wasn’t operating at peak efficiency. Maybe he was breaking down.

He felt grim satisfaction if that should be the case.

Maybe then, he could go to sleep and not have to be woken up for yet another stomach-churning mission. He wasn’t sure who he was anymore, the asset was all he was allowed, but he felt sure this was never who he’d been and he wouldn’t care if it finally ended.

They wouldn’t let it, but maybe they wouldn’t be given the choice. From then on out, he kept an eye out for future symptoms with a desperate hope…

Maybe soon…

* * *

Last summer, Clint’s arm had been broken, and his dad had told everyone he’d fallen out of a tree. Everyone had believed his dad and Clint had been too scared to speak up. They were used to seeing him with bruises littering his skin. If sometimes those bruises seemed to heal at different rates, nobody had noticed.

_ “Oh, you know how it is. Boys will be boys. Always roughhousing.” _

_ “Oh, Clint’s so clumsy.” _

_ “Those are from his soulmate – what a special bond it must be to find out so young.” _

With all those excuses ready, a broken arm wasn’t unbelievable, even though there was no way the arm was because of his soulmate. Everyone knew that you only  _ felt  _ what they felt, that the bruises only  _ marked  _ where the hurt was.

Clint wondered how it felt to his soulmate when his hearing went because his dad had beaten it out of him. Wondered if a soulmate could reject someone or if Clint’s hated him as much as Clint hated them for all the pain he’d caused them. ‘cause that’s what happened, right? If they got hurt, Clint hurt. Which meant, if Clint got hurt, so did they.

And Clint got hurt a lot. His dad didn’t hold back now, hadn’t for  _ years  _ even.

Even though his hearing came back, it was always a little wonky after.

It was with a strange relief that Clint and Barney found out their parents had died in an accident. Briefly, he wondered what would happen to the surviving half of a soulmate pair if something like that happened to one of them? Would they hurt forever? Or maybe die with them or… or would it finally be over, no more pain, left to live a normal life?

What would  _ that _ be like?

* * *

The assets hearing had gone a little funny, briefly, causing his handlers even more panic.

_ Good, _ he thought silently. He’d learned long ago to keep his thoughts to himself. Speaking up either got him ignored (best case scenario) or more pain.  _ I hope it gets worse. What good am I to you if I can’t hear your instructions? _

* * *

By the time Clint was 18, he’d found out his father wasn’t the only person with a penchant for beating defenseless kids, wasn’t the only one gleeful to find out that Clint had a soulmate to help hide the evidence of their misdeeds.

Him and Barney ran away to the circus, and Barney helped him hide as much of his skin as possible, Clint picking out purple and black clothing with a joke about matching his own color scheme while Barney helped him cultivate a reputation for clumsiness. It made Clint a little sick, that he used one of his fathers’ favorite coverups to misdirect people, but he was so tired of people speculating about his soulmate, like it was a good thing or any of their fucking business.

So, he played it up and if a few of the other performers shook their heads in befuddlement that someone normally so graceful could suddenly be so clumsy, nobody brought it up.

* * *

The asset felt like he was lifting from a fog. He was being woken more often, these days, and he always found bruises on himself, even after being in the cryo chamber. Sometimes his handlers would wake him just to hurt him, and he didn’t understand why, but each cut seemed to clear something from his mind.

He began to resist his missions, to fight his handlers, something he had a vague sense of doing before, before he’d resigned himself to this half-life. But the bruises  _ meant  _ something, something he couldn’t remember.

One of his handlers asked if he felt any pain, pointing from one purplish mass to the next, skipping over the ones they’d inflicted. He tilted his head and thought about it, then shrugged. He was always in pain. What little extra those brought about was indistinguishable from the rest.

But they were  _ important _ in a way he just couldn’t remember.

They strapped him into the chair when he didn’t immediately return to base after his last mission.

They’d found the asset in a library. He’d broken in after dark to minimize his exposure to people. They made him skittish outside his normal parameters. The asset had thought he’d been smart about it, but his handlers had been upset when they found him taking his own initiative.

They hadn’t explained why they’d deemed it necessary to wipe his memory and he had the sudden urge to wonder how many times this had already happened.

* * *

The first time pain speared through his head, Clint nearly fell from his place high up in the big top, helping with the rigging.

He managed to make it look like his normal clumsiness, but once he’d gotten back on the ground he’d excused himself on the grounds that he felt a little nauseous (no one wanted him to upchuck in their hair) and he’d returned to the cramped trailer he shared with Barney. He caught sight of the bruises in their warped little mirror and stumbled, his knees going weak as yet another stab of pain seared through him, the array of bruises on his temple darkening – one high, circling his left eye, one low, riding across the cheekbones on the right side of his face..

He reached up a hand tentatively to poke at them, the idea that maybe his soulmate might be in a bad situation occurring to him for the first time in his life, as his eyes caught on the nearly solid purple of his left arm.

_ This _ bruise never went away, the pain a near constant low-level ache that sometimes spiked but was  _ never _ gone.

But what could Clint do? He was a scrawny teenager who could barely read and write, with no skills outside of archery and petty theft. No money, no connections – how would he find the one person out of the billions on this planet that was his?

* * *

The asset thought the mind wipes were happening far more oftener, now, but it was hard to tell. His memories were all jumbled together. Faces looked different than he thought they should, and he must have been going out on missions, because he had the remnants of injuries he couldn’t remember getting.

He stared at the bruises on his skin.

The bridge of his nose ached and his hearing wobbled.

There was something important he needed to remember.

He frowned and flexed his fingers, staring at his arms. Why was he happy to see purple bruises on his arm? Why did looking at his metal arm fill him with… worry?

_ “Wipe him again.” _

* * *

When the Swordsman turned on him, injuring him terribly and leaving him for dead, it had taken Clint a long time to recover from it.

He wondered if his soulmate carried bruises for the entirety of it. He wondered if his soulmate knew how close to dying Clint had gotten.

Infections were a terrible thing.

He wondered, staring down at his left arm, how close to dying his soulmate had gotten. Would Clint ever know if he had?

* * *

The asset was mid mission when pain bloomed all over his body. The suddenness of it caused him to flinch.

He missed his shot, wounding instead of killing.

He stared through the scope in disbelief. He never missed his shot. He’d learned a long time ago that missing meant failure and failure meant punishment. His body throbbed like a livewire, his muscles twitching. There was something wrong with him. It was time to go back to base and get checked out.

Pushing through the pain, he lined up a second shot, finished his job and rose. The pain became a rolling wave, bringing dizziness and nausea as he stumbled away to the rendezvous point.

There was definitely something wrong with him.

* * *

Outside the massive purpling of his arm, the SHIELD doctors didn’t seem to notice the difference between one set of bruises and the next - his reputation for crazy stunts and general clumsiness having already become legendary in the short time he’d been with the agency - but Clint _ always _ knew.

He kept track of every new bruise, had even started keeping a notebook cataloguing everything, though he wasn’t sure what good it would do.

Where ever his soulmate was, Clint was getting more and more convinced it was nowhere good. Then again, with the amount of injuries Clint managed to accumulate on his own, maybe his soulmate thought the same of him?

Maybe there was nothing to worry about?

Deep inside, he knew he didn’t believe that.

* * *

“ _ What’s wrong with him?” _

_ “Someone stop that screaming!” _

_ “Why are his eyes glowing?” _

_ “Soldat! Stand down!” _

Panicked voices swirled around him, but the asset was… untouchable, unreachable. He felt a serene sense of calm and purpose overtake him – then two days later it evaporated and his head pounded and his back ached and his handlers moved around him even more carefully, more warily than before, the guard on him quadrupled.

* * *

The Chitauri had been beaten back and Tony had offered up his medical staff to all the new-fledged Avengers, Nat having to talk him into taking Tony up on the offer.

He knew what they’d find. Bruises that weren’t his hiding among the ones that were. Clint was only human, after all. He wouldn’t recover as fast as Hulk or Steve or Thor. But it wasn’t that bad, really.

Nat didn’t believe him.

“Come. You’re always hurt, and you always play it off as nothing even when it’s something. I didn’t bring you back just to lose you because you were too stubborn.”

Clint finally agreed, but he didn’t want people poking about in his brain, not after Loki, and he shoved the device away from his head when one of the nurses tried to place it on his head.

“Stark technology,” Tony said. “State of the art, neural interface. It’s in the test stages, was hoping you guys would let it do it’s thing, measure your pain levels, that sort of thing.”

Clint shook his head and Tony sighed. “It’s not gonna read your mind, promise. Or rearrange it either.” He pointed one bed over. “Look, even Caps doing it!”

“That argument would have more weight if it had been Nat, you realize?” Clint asked, unimpressed.

Tony shuddered. “Like I’d ask  _ her.  _ You think I have a death wish?”

Without even understanding how he got there, Clint found himself wearing the device on his head anyway. Then all the machines went crazy, Tony’s eyes going wide as he pulled up a screen, staring at readouts.

“Fuck, Hawkeye, how are you feeling buddy?”

Clint shrugged. “Uh, outside of my back and my head, pretty much normal.”

A diagram of the human body took over the screen, filled with different colors. Tony tapped the image. “According to this, you’re dealing with the highest pain levels my interface has ever seen. Like, curl up and cry, begging for morphine levels of pain. Not even Cap is that high.”

“Cap is a super soldier. He can probably take a lot more than the rest of us,” Clint pointed out. “Are we about done?”

“This doesn’t concern you?” Tony stared at Clint openmouthed. “Especially your  _ arm _ , Jesus, Clint. Did you break it or something?”

“Not since I was a kid,” he said. “Look, my arm’s been like that since… pretty near always, actually.”

Tony’s head shook. “You’re telling me this… this is  _ normal?” _

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” Clint’s hand reached up for the device but before his hands reached it, one of those familiar, searing pains swept through him and he doubled over, gasping.

“What is it? Is it Loki?” Steve asked.

Clint waved him off, falling back against the bed and closing his eyes. With shaking hands, he ripped Tony’s device off his head and dropped it, letting it clatter to the ground. “Wasn’t Loki.”

“Clint…” Tony’s voice was deceptively soft, but filled with worry, with steel. “Are you telling me this is normal too?”

Hands, small delicate fingers that hid how strong they were, came up over his temples – one high, one low - tracing the bruises he already knew had bloomed there. He caught Nat’s hand and pulled her away. He summoned up a lopsided smile and opened his eyes.

His friends – both old and new – stood there, staring at him with a mixture of horror and worry.

“I’m fine,” he assured them, but he knew they didn’t believe a word of it.

“How long has this been going on?” Nat asked. She reached over to run her fingers through his hair, carding it away from his face gently. It was a soothing touch and he leaned into it before he sighed, resigned to talking about the one thing he always avoided talking about.

“Which part? Bruises first showed up when I was 5. This…” Clint swirled his hand around by his head. “Started when I was in the circus. Maybe 10-13 years later?”

“That’s…” Tony’s eyes blinked as he calculated it faster than Clint could process. “33 years knowing you had a soulmate and 23-26 years of whatever torture they’re living in.”

“Jesus,” Steve breathed out.

“It ain’t all bad all the time,” Clint said. “Usually it’s just the arm. Can’t imagine what could be wrong with it. I can go years without feeling anything else.” He paused. “The… headaches… they’re getting more frequent though,” Clint admitted.

“Clint, they did studies. The pain you’re feeling is only a fraction of what your soulmate feels -“ Tony gestured helplessly at the screens. “The chances they haven’t gone  _ insane  _ from it…”

“I know, okay,” Clint gritted out. “Why do you think I joined a spy agency? And even with that sort of resource at my disposal, I  _ still _ haven’t found them!”

Tony cracked his knuckles. “Yeah, but you were doing it on your own, weren’t you? Yeah, don’t give me that look. We’re a team now, Clint. I got resources. Nat’s pretty scary, too. Cap’ll give out puppy dog eyes. It’ll be a whole thing. We’ll find them for you.”

“We’ve got your back,” Steve said, and Clint believed him, even though they’d only just met. Steve had given him a chance without knowing him, after Loki, Clint could give him the benefit of the doubt. He was Captain America after all.

Nat said nothing, but she was a warm, solid presence at his side, a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The pain never really went away, but for the first time it seemed a little more bearable.

Maybe he should have spoken up before now…

* * *

_ “And it’s him? We’re sure?” _

_ “Everything lines up… New York… the arm…” _

_ “It’s all right here, right under our noses – how did nobody notice this before?” _

_ “He’s good at what he does.” _

_ “Send out a retrieval unit.” _

The asset sat in the chair, staring blankly at the wall, his whole body a throbbing pain, his head aching. He didn’t know who the poor sap they were talking about was, but he had a bad feeling about what it meant for the future…

* * *

Tony did all sorts of tests and data gathering that Clint was reluctant to do. But for the first time ever, people weren’t going “Oh, you’re so lucky!” when they saw the purpling masses on his skin. They weren’t telling him he was sick in the head because of his exhaustion. Instead, they were  _ helping  _ him. They commiserated. They made plans.

It was  _ weird  _ as hell, Clint still tensing up the second anyone mentioned anything about bruises or soulmates.

Nothing happened for a while, Clint unable to see any real progress, but he should have known that with Tony involved, the determined genius would figure  _ something  _ out that had evaded Clint all these years.

“Have you noticed that you’re more ‘awake and aware’ and all around  _ warmer  _ whenever the active bruising stops?” Tony asked one day over breakfast. Clint was huddled in sweats and hoody with a blanket draped around his shoulder and his hands cradling his 3 rd scalding cup of coffee.

“Huh?”

“It’s a pattern. I’ve been watching. Whenever you get cold and sleepy, the bruising  _ stops _ . It’s gotta mean something,” Tony went on. Nat, Bruce and Steve were all staring between them thoughtfully. Clint’s brain took a second to catch up but then his forehead drew down and his right hand came up over his left arm.

“But –“

Tony waved him off. “Whatever that is, it’s a permanent mark. An outlier. When you discount it,  _ everything else lines up _ .”

He stood there, looking proud of himself. Clint blinked at him.

“But how does that  _ help,  _ Tony?” he finally asked.

Tony’s shoulders slumped. “No clue. But all information is good information, and it’s something we didn’t know before. We’ve just got to figure out how to apply it.”

“Maybe we start by checking cold places?” Steve suggested. “If his soulmate is so cold Clint can feel it then obviously, he’s not in Hawaii. That helps. We’re looking for a needle in a haystack, and that eliminates a lot of haystacks right there..”

“That’s not how it works,” Nat said. “People don’t just go outside in the winter and suddenly their soulmate is cold. It’s not intense enough.”

“Could be frozen.” Bruce said suddenly. “That’s pretty intense.”

Everyone stared at him. Bruce almost shrank away from the attention before he steeled himself and cleared his throat. “Think about it, Steve. You were frozen for 70 years – what if you’d had a soulmate? How would that have translated over the bond?”

Steve looked stricken and automatically checked himself over with a sigh of relief when he found nothing. Clint felt for him. He’d felt guilty more than once for the things he must have put his own soulmate through, but apparently, it was mutual.

“That’s… fucking depressing,” Tony said. “But a very good point.”

Clint still couldn’t see how that would be helpful, but hey, he was in a room full of people smarter than him. He was sure they’d figure it out.

* * *

_ “What do you mean you can’t get your hands on him? It’s just one man!’ _

_ “So’s the asset.” _

_ “But Barton’s not even enhanced!” _

_ “He’s good enough to be an Avenger… That counts for something.” _

The asset wondered who they were talking about as they took him out of cold storage. The scientists never cared what he overheard, but they never talked freely enough for him to make connections.

He wondered if this would be his next mission…

* * *

Someone was poking at his face – no, not poking. Poking implied impatience or annoyance (at least wherever Clint was concerned). A finger trailed softly over his cheek, up over his temple.

It almost tickled if it wasn’t for the ache behind his eyes, the pounding in his skull.

Clint blinked his eyes open with great difficulty – and hoped he didn’t squeak at the sight of a face up close and personal, grey blue eyes roaming over Clint’s face.

The lips were frowning slightly, the brows furrowed – not in anger, but confusion? Damn, but Clint was way too out of it to tell for sure. How had he gotten here anyway? The man’s fingers still moved over Clint’s face and Clint had enough. He tried to lift his hand and knock the other man’s away, but found his hands wouldn’t move. Clint’s eyes went wide and he had to control his breathing as his body jerked at the restraints.

He was a goddamn Avenger and a super-secret spy – he did  _ not  _ panic just because he was tied up who knew where, by who knew who.

He’d save the panic up for something good, something that mattered. Like, being tortured by the smell of really fucking good coffee but not being allowed to have any.  _ That  _ would be a travesty. Getting beaten up? Tortured? That happened all the time. A common hazard in his line of work.

Clint swallowed, flexing his fingers and trying to subtly shift, see if he could get his hands free.

Whoever had him, whoever was responsible for his predicament, Clint had the strangest feeling it wasn’t this guy. There was just… something odd about him. Or maybe off?

“Does it hurt?” The mans’ head tilted, blinking at Clint slowly, almost like a cat. If he hadn’t been so close, so careful with his words - in a way that made Clint think it _ hadn’t _ been for Clint’s benefit, it was just the way he was – Clint never would have caught them. They were too soft for his ears to pick up without his aides which were, of course, gone.

The bad guys were never considerate enough to leave them in. Then again, Tony  _ had  _ put tracers in them for occasions just like this one, so, probably a pretty smart move on the bad guys part, all told.

The man was still looking at him, all earnest confusion, waiting for an answer, his hair falling into his face unnoticed. There was… actually, now that Clint thought about it, there was something familiar about him, but he couldn’t quite place his finger on it.

He opened his mouth to answer but the man froze suddenly, face going slack, his eyes blank and he backed away from Clint, standing rigid as someone else crossed into Clint’s view.

The new person was joined by a second and together they fitted something over his head, ignoring the taunts Clint tossed their way reflexively. It crackled as it settled in place and he blinked incredulously at them as the weird little headset acted as crude hearing aids.

Well, these guys  _ had  _ thought ahead. Clint was clearly not with amateurs.

Shit. That would make escape that much harder.

More people filed into the room – or maybe just into Clint’s view, who knew how long they’d been there - a number of them in lab coats, several armed to the teeth and… watching the first man – the one that had touched his face – more than they watched Clint.

Which, fair, Clint  _ was  _ all tied up… but he’d gotten out of tighter positions before (Yes, without Natasha’s help) and he felt both relieved and disgruntled that they were underestimating him. But if the other man was so dangerous, why wasn’t  _ he  _ all tied up or anything?

What exactly had Clint gotten himself into?

* * *

The asset had been surprised when they brought the man in. Even when they had prisoners, his handlers had never brought them  _ here _ \- at least, not while  _ he  _ was awake.

The man was unconscious as they strapped him down into  _ his  _ chair, the chair the asset hated so much. They’d stripped the prisoner of all but his pants. He was covered in old scars and fresh cuts and bruises but was fit and lean with really strong looking muscles and calluses’ on his fingers.

The asset was sure this man was a fighter. Maybe he was also a soldier?

One bruise in particular caught his eye, and he edged closer. He glanced around. Nobody stopped him. he shifted a little closer in slow increments till he could reach out and touch the blonde man. Transfixed, he ran his hand down the man’s left arm. Such bruising couldn’t be natural, could it?

Without conscious thought, the asset’s hand moved on, his fingers tracing each old scar and freshly made bruise, skipping over the cuts till he reached the man’s face.

The man stirred under his fingers and the asset nearly held his breath, though he didn’t know why. Eyes blinked open and stared at the asset groggily, dazedly and he immediately felt guilty for touching him, though he couldn’t seem to pull away.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

He didn’t get an answer before his handlers noticed what he was doing but that was all right. It had been a stupid question anyway.

* * *

The labcoats didn’t start with any preliminaries, no questions, no gloating. Just went straight to the torture.

Clint snorted, spat and sneered. “You think that hurts me any?” he taunted. The pain he lived with on a daily basis was worse than this. His pain tolerance was pretty damn high, almost as high as Steve’s, actually, which got him into trouble more often than not as he ignored injuries he shouldn’t have.

He spared a brief thought for his soulmate, sent a silent apology he knew wouldn’t be heard. This was the part of the job he always felt guilty for. As bad as this was for him, how much  worse was it for his unsuspecting soulmate?

They hadn’t signed up for this shit.

Clint tuned out the labcoats, ignored the pain with a practiced will, and focused instead on the other man. He stood against a wall, definitely frowning now, which had the guys with the guns nervous and Clint almost chuckled even though he should probably be afraid if everyone else was. The blank expression was gone. One of his hands twitched, moving to cover his cheek.

Pulling his hand away, the man looked down at the fingers but Clint saw a bruise forming on his face.

Shit, poor guy must have a soulmate too.

Clint wondered if his soulmate was getting tortured like he was.

Okay, that wasn’t very likely. Clint was maybe focusing on soulmates to help ignore the pain he was currently in. He  _ did  _ feel it, no matter what he’d said to the labcoats.

There was a pause and a flurry of conversation that the inadequate headset couldn’t filter right. Clint grimaced, snatches of words making no sense. All and all, it was just making this damn headache worse.

The shout of “Soldat!” came through all too loudly, all too clearly, making Clint wince and the man against the wall jerk and stand at attention. More words but Soldat didn’t move. A tension rose in the room that Clint didn’t understand.

“Soldat, come  _ here _ ,” one labcoat barked, pointing to a spot just in front of Clint. Slowly, Soldat moved closer. “Take off your shirt and give me your arm.”

Soldat stared for a few beats, then took his time baring his chest before he held up his left arm. Clint blinked at the scars littering Soldat’s chest, at the glint of metal – more than a glint as his eyes traveled upwards. Holy shit, this guys entire arm was  _ metal,  _ connected at the shoulder.

It almost made Clint’s shoulder throb in sympathy – except it pretty much always did anyway.

“Not that one, the other one,” the labcoat said.

There was another long pause before Soldat dropped his arm and held up the other one. The labcoat shifted so he could grab the arm to hold it steady, the men with the guns all turning their undivided attention to the man.

God, if Clint could get  _ free,  _ this would probably be a good moment for it, everyone paying attention elsewhere. Just one slip up, and Clint could be out of here. He twisted at his bindings futilely.

“Stay still,” Labcoat said, with a warning look up at Soldat before flashing a smirk at Clint, the words obviously intended for  _ both  _ of them.

Seconds later, still watching Clint, the labcoat stabbed a knife into Soldat’s arm and yanked it down, dragging a deep red gash over his skin.

Clint jerked as pain flared through him unexpectedly but Soldat held still, just as he’d been instructed, as if there wasn’t a blade sticking out of his arm. Clint’s breathing picked up, harsh and quick and he struggled to bring it back under control. Soldat’s eyes went wide and the smile on the labcoats face and the excited babble around him made Clint think he was missing something.

Something important.

Something right in front of his face…

* * *

When the alarm sounded in the building, every scientist froze and a number of the soldiers turned away from the asset and towards the doors.

The asset had never heard the alarm before, nobody had ever breached the base his handlers kept him in.

He flexed his fingers, watching the slice on his arm heal up slowly. He looked back up at the blonde man strapped to the chair. The asset’s handlers had worked him over but the prisoner hadn’t made a peep. He was  _ strong,  _ and the asset admired that. It might even come in handy but all it had done was frustrate his handlers.

That never boded well, but he hadn’t expected them to turn on  _ him _ . Or for what happened when they did. The metal plates in his arm whirred as his hand clenched restlessly, his mind picking away at things.

The asset had  _ watched  _ a bruise form in a line along the man’s right arm – while nothing and nobody had been touching him.

It had formed in the same place the asset had been injured.

That  _ meant  _ something.

They were connected somehow. He didn’t understand it, but he knew it in his gut that it was true.

He also knew, suddenly and unequivocally, that he couldn’t let these people do the things they did to  _ him _ to the blonde man. It made his head swim and his heart lurch strangely and none of the soldiers were looking at  _ him. _

And the base was under attack.

He was a lost cause, but maybe he could get this man out of here, get him safe.

The asset was moving before he’d finished the thought.

* * *

The first thought Clint had when the alarms went off was that the team had found him anyway. Relief filled him and he worked at his bonds under a new wave of determination.

And then Soldat – what was that? Was it a name? It sounded German, Clint thought… a word, maybe, instead of a name – was beside him, casting wary glances around to make sure he hadn’t been seen. He pulled a knife and sliced through the restraints faster than Clint could have in the same position.

He swallowed. Christ, this guy was strong, wasn’t he? He’d be a formidable opponent.

And yet, for some reason, he seemed to have picked Clint’s side. When Clint’s arms were freed, Soldat pressed the knife into his hand and gave him a nod.

Clint nodded back.

“Be ready,” Soldat said, though the sound of it was lost under the alarms. He reached down with his bare hands for the restraints on Clint’s legs but a hand on his shoulder stopped him, made him look up.

“Just so you know, I can’t hear you,” Clint said, tapping at his ear with the hand not holding the knife.

Soldat stared at him for a few, precious seconds, then gave a sharp nod. He tensed at something clint didn’t catch, grasped the leather straps and  _ yanked _ , ripping them off seconds before whirling about in time to lunge at the closest guard.

Clint shoved the headset off his head none too gently, gripped his knife grimly and then surged into the fray on bare feet.

Distance combat may be his specialty, but he could hold his own in close quarter combat when he needed to, especially when he had somebody to watch his back.

* * *

The asset had been right, the prisoner was a fighter.

Within moments, the room was cleared, the man giving a good accounting of himself. He was injured, barefoot and unenhanced and though few men and women could be counted as the assets equal, this man came close.

The asset was impressed.

The prisoner stopped long enough to arm himself properly and then they were easing out of the room, the asset leading the way.

Down here, close to the ‘room’, they encountered nearly nobody. Anyone who was a noncombatant was probably hiding, trusting the soldiers to do their job. And the soldiers were dealing with the incursion.

There was only one way out though, which meant through.

* * *

Clint followed Soldat through the building wishing he’d thought to at least grab some damn boots, but they made their way steadily up and out with little to no resistance.

That set him on edge so much it was a  _ relief  _ to run into someone.

The further they went, the thicker the clumps of people they had to fight through, but the alarms Clint could still barely hear – he hadn’t lost  _ all  _ his hearing, just enough of it to be a problem – covered any sound of their approach and him and Soldat easily made their way through the enemy with only a few blows and cuts between them.

They didn’t slow down Soldat and Clint had experience in not letting anything but the most dire of wounds slow him down or stop him.

All the soldier’s concentration was forward, which definitely worked in their favor. Clint didn’t know who Soldat was, or why he was helping him, but he knew that without Soldat…

Well, Clint would probably still have gotten out - he hadn’t been a high-level agent before he was an Avenger for nothing, after all - but probably not as easily and not with as few wounds as he was getting away with.

When they met up with the others, Clint could have cheered, but sadly he was too busy taking out the bad guys. Who even  _ were  _ they? Not AIM, that was for sure. When the last guy went down, the Avengers moved in closer and Soldat whirled, training his gun up.

“No, no, no – it’s okay! These are my friends – they’re probably here because of me,” Clint said, snagging Soldat by his shoulder and getting him to turn enough to look back at Clint.

Soldat stared at him incredulously. “Your friends are Black Widow, Captain America and Iron Man?” he asked, but he lowered his weapon.

“Yup. C’mon, Soldat,” Clint said, patting his shoulder. The metal shoulder. Wasn’t there talk about a guy with a metal arm? God, Clint’s head was still too fuzzy for this.

Soldat looked away, his hair swinging around his face and partially obscuring his mouth. “That -- not -- name.”

“What?” Clint puzzled it out. “What’s your name?”

“ - don’t have --. Asset’s don’t need names,” he finished, looking back up to catch Clint’s eye.

Clint frowned. “ _ Everyone _ has a name. You weren’t always an… asset?”

“I don’t remember,” he said.

Clint winced. Man, these guys had fucked Soldat or, well, whoever he was, more than he’d thought. “Ouch, well, come on. we’re almost out of here.” Clint took a step forward just as Tony landed beside them in the red and gold suit.

Soldat twitched and Clint turned back to see him frowning.

“Can’t… -- won’t let me.”

“Screw that. You want out, come with us. I never listen to the rules.”

Soldat’s head swung toward Tony but Clint couldn’t hear what Tony was saying. He could imagine it though. Tony was probably agreeing with him. Well, about the rules bit anyway. Still, it was annoying as hell. Of all the times – when his life was at stake! At least they were almost –

Pain shot through him, low and hot. Clint grunted, stumbling. Both Tony and Soldat moved forward to catch him and Clint’s hand slapped down to his side. He could feel the blood seeping through his fingers.

_ Oh fuck… _

* * *

The assets heart pounded as they neared the exit, gun coming up when he saw the 2 brightly clad figures. He recognized them from a briefing – they were two of the Avengers. Why were they here?

The prisoner grasped his arm and shook his head and the asset lowered his gun as the prisoner – ex-prisoner now, he supposed – explained who they were.

Oh, good. He could hand him over then. It was important this man be kept safe.

The prisoner insisted he come with them and the asset froze. Could he? He answered automatically and Iron Man shook his head.

“Can copy that. Clint’s always been a rule breaker. You want out, we can help with that.”

The asset barely had time to process the idea when Clint – his name was  _ Clint _ , but what was  _ his? –  _ stiffened and stumbled. Pain flared along the assets hip but it was secondary to seeing Clint going down.  _ No! He had to protect him! _

Dropping his gun, he and Iron Man both reached for Clint. With one arm around Clint, the asset tracked the trajectory and – in one smooth motion- drew a knife from one of his many sheaths and threw it with deadly accuracy. The soldier who’d shot Clint slumped back down into the cluster of felled bodies the asset and Clint had left in their wake.

Clint shifted and the asset turned to find Iron Man lifting him away. He swallowed. That brief moment of being pressed against Clint had felt… good, felt right. He found he didn’t want to let Clint out of his sight.

“Come on, then, Terminator. I think it’s time to beat a retreat, get Clint some help,” Iron Man said, taking off without waiting for the asset.

The asset’s feet stumbled as he picked a direction, but ultimately, he didn’t want to be left behind and he followed Clint and Iron Man out the front of the building which had been blasted away. A black clad figure skipped ahead – Widow – to a waiting plane, Iron Man right behind her

Captain America stood there waiting and watching as the asset approached. the asset’s stomach twisted further, the hair on the back of his neck prickling oddly.

He hesitated at the ramp, head ducked down and afraid to look up at this man, at any of them, he didn’t deserve to be here with… with the good guys. He knew his memory was shot and his handlers kept him in the dark about a lot of things, but he was sure the Avengers were the good guys and he was a bad guy, and yet, here he was –

Captain America held out his hand, his voice gentle, “It’s okay. Clint’s gonna be all right. So will you.”

The asset swallowed – and stepped on board.

* * *

Clint shuddered as Tony put him down on the jet, straight onto one of the benches and Nat was there immediately. Her hands moved steadily as she worked, pushing his aside, checking and cleaning the wound.

“It’s not so bad,” he told her. “Where’s – “

“Shush, you,” she said. But then she braved moving her hands away long enough to sign, so he was probably right. ‘Your pain tolerance is through the roof. Not so bad usually means I should worry.”

Clint blinked at her, his head a little fuzzy. Okay, true, but he couldn’t let them get up into the air without Soldat. Fuck, whatever – Clint needed to call him  _ something. _ He looked away, back at the ramp, in time to see Steve encourage Soldat inside.

Relief flooded him and he sagged, causing Nat to take in a sharp breath in concern. He waved her off, watching as his rescuer edged around the jet towards Clint, keeping his head low. One hand was draped across his stomach, holding his side.

Shit, had he gotten hit too? But Clint didn’t see any blood. He struggled to sit up but Tony pushed him back down, then handed him a spare set of Stark tech hearing aids they kept on the jet for emergencies. With Tony’s assistance, Clint got them in.

Oh, that was much better. Reading lips (and reading between the lines when he missed a word or three or five) was taking a lot more effort than he had to give right now. And it only made his headache worse.

Nat glanced up as Soldat got closer and her hands paused. She turned and gave Clint a disbelieving look, shook her head and got moving again.

“Only  _ you _ would get kidnapped and get the Winter Soldier to defect on your way out,” she said with another shake of her head and an affectionate tone.

“Eh, you know me,” Clint said. “Wait, who?” The Winter Soldier. Clint had heard about him. He was an assassin, a ghost, a legend. Most agents hadn’t believed he existed, Nat had sworn he did, and Clint had always believed her but, well, who would have thought he’d ever meet the Winter Soldier and live to tell the tale if it  _ were  _ true.

“Is… he all right?” The Winter Soldier asked tentatively. His voice was a rough, low rumble that shivered its way through Clint.

Clint waved off the concern with the plan to respond but then his eyes caught on his blood covered hand and he followed its movement instead, suddenly feeling oh so heavy. “Did’ya drug me, Nat?”

“It’s for your own good,” she said. “This is gonna hurt…”

Well, yeah, in Clint’s experience, a lot of things did and he’d gotten through it just fine. But it was too late, and he was hurt and exhausted and had already suffered a least one blow to the head.

Clint faded out with his eyes still on his rescuer.

He looked familiar. Maybe Clint would figure it out when he woke up.

* * *

The asset hovered by Clint and Widow. Clint had passed out and he’d almost whined, the urge to reach out very, very strong. A hand touched his arm and he jerked back, flipping a knife up into his hand and staring straight into Captain America’s eyes.

Captain America had raised his hands placatingly and backed off.

“Whoa, whoa – just wanted to check if you were –  _ Bucky???” _

The asset felt his brow pull together, his hand shake and his heart pound. “Who the hell is Bucky?”

“Buck, it’s me, Steve. You _ know _ me. Fuck, what the – how did… oh my god…” Cap –  _ Steve’s _ \- voice ended in a harsh whisper and a strangled sound.

“Steve?” the asset’s voice wavered. Steve was familiar but the asset couldn’t remember – maybe they  _ did  _ know each other. Was it possible?

The tremble in his hand spread through his body and he stumbled back till he hit the closest wall, eyes wide as he stared at Steve.

“Don’t you remember?” Steve asked. “Bucky –“

“I – “ the asset – no, _ Bucky - _ paused. A welter of vague memories ran across his mind, too fast and blurry to grab ahold but… Bucky. Yes, his name  _ was  _ Bucky. And Steve – Steve was his best friend.

“Bucky, are you hurt?” Steve asked. “Can I come closer?”

Bucky looked down at himself. A lot of bruises, a few cuts that were healing up like normal. Nothing serious. He looked back up and shook his head and then nodded slowly.

Steve smiled happily and came closer slowly, like Bucky was a wild animal, until he was close enough to run his eyes and hands over Bucky’s body, checking him over before pulling him into a hug after assuring himself that Bucky was fine.

Bucky slowly hugged back. It felt… odd, foreign and… comfortable, soothing. It felt like something was slipping back into place.

He pushed back, grasping Bucky by both shoulders, his smile turning wider, his eyes filling with tears. “God, Buck, I’ve missed you. And I’ve got a lot of questions for you.”

“Don’t think I’ll have too many answers,” Bucky said, and his voice only wobbled a little.

“That’s okay,” Steve beamed. “We’ll figure it out, together.”

* * *

This time, when Clint woke up, he was in a familiar bed at Stark Tower. Not his  _ preferred  _ bed, but at least it meant he was home, he was safe.

He turned his head to find the Winter Soldier curled up on a chair. Someone had gotten him a brown, cable knitted sweater that looked warm and cozy, and he’d fallen asleep, face angled towards Clint. Clint couldn’t stop staring at him. He looked soft, softer than any legendary assassin had any right to look. He also looked lost. Clint wanted to run his fingers through the Winter Soldier’s hair, soothe him, tell him it would be okay.

Why was Clint so invested? Just because the guy had saved his life? So had everyone on his team – Nat more than most.

Nat came into his view, aids in one hand, one of those hospital mugs with a straw in the other. He nodded at both. She handed him the mug while she fitted his hearing aids on, the world coming back into focus. The silent room was still what most people considered silent, but Clint could now hear hissing machinery, the beep of his monitor, the rustle of sheets. He could hear everyone breathing, the Winter Soldier snoring delicately in his corner.

All those sounds most people brushed off as white noise that reminded Clint that he could still hear, even if nothing was going on.

He sipped at the water, then set it aside. “How long was I out?” he asked quietly. He didn’t want to disturb the Winter Soldier, who looked peaceful in a way he hadn’t before.

“Too long, by my count,” Nat said just as softly. She ran a hand through his hair, then looked over her shoulder. “Too long by his, too.”

“He okay?”

“Yeah, he heals up almost as fast as Steve does,” she said. “Except for the bruises.”

Clint blinked. “Huh?”

“He’s your  _ soulmate _ , Clint,” she said, shaking her head. “Tony figured it out first – you know how he likes patterns and data, and all your wounds between you matched up.  _ All of them _ ,” she said, nodding at his arm. “Now we know why your whole arm is a permanent bruise.”

“Oh…” Clint’s mind worked that over in his head a few times. Metal arm… would also explain why the worst of the pain was in his shoulder. Which also meant this guy was  _ always  _ in excruciating pain. Jesus.

“Also,” Nat said, sitting down in a chair beside him and kicking her feet up. “You’re _ not _ gonna believe who he is…”

Moments later, Clint was staring at her in shock. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “Bucky fucking Barnes? I  _ knew  _ he looked familiar!” Clint exclaimed.

Bucky snorted himself awake at the noise and fell out of his chair, glancing about the room warily. Clint grinned at him sheepishly as Bucky picked himself up. 

Nat stood up and rolled her eyes. “I’ll give you boys some privacy, please don’t tear open any stitches.”

The door closed silently behind her and Bucky edged towards the bed. “Are you okay?”

Clint smiled softly and held out his hand. Bucky hesitated, then took it. Clint stared down at the metal hand very gently touching his and he gave it a squeeze.

“Yeah, we finally found each other. I think I am. You?”

Bucky nodded and Clint just grinned. Couldn’t stop grinning in fact. He probably looked like an idiot, but then Bucky’s small, shy smile bloomed into his own grin and Clint didn’t care.

**Author's Note:**

> Please, i feel brain fried - if you think i missed some tags, let me know!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] Bruises on My Skin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24909649) by [Flowerparrish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flowerparrish/pseuds/Flowerparrish)


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